Residual feelings
by fondekit606
Summary: Sometimes, a harmless cup of coffee can stir memories and drown us in endless possibilities. As adults, Harry and Draco act civil around each other. But could there be something lying underneath the polite conversations and the aloof presence?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:**

**It's clear from the very first paragraph, but just in case, this is Draco's POV ;)**

**i'm not gonna beg for reviews, but think of them as cookies! wouldn't you be happy to**

**get a cookie? so make me happy and give me one!**

**my very first Harry/Draco fan-fiction, i hope you enjoy it!**

_ A Silver past: _

I can recall every detail of Hogwarts, the magnificent architecture, the high windows that stretch to the ceilings, and the detailed paintings that add to itself a meticulous design every now and then, whether it was an extra plate of fruits, or a new deck of cards or even a whole new person. Hogwarts never seems to have a satisfied ego. The soul of the castle was a perfectionist, it wanted to be at its finest and it accomplished its goal in the most mesmerizing way. I uplift myself from the memory surfacing back to present as if by a levitation charm. I took another sip of muggle's coffee in this soulless coffee shop they call Starbucks. I sneer at no one in particular. Wait till my father hears about this! A Malfoy, in a muggle shop, the horror! I unleash a smirk imagining my father's reaction, but it turned quickly and quietly into a scowl. That would give him another thing to agonize over in Azkaban. I took a disapproved sip and felt its warmth sink into my core. This muggle's drink had more effect on me than any other energy potion I ever had, the things that muggles came up with on their own, without a pent of magic were astonishing.

Staring at my cup, it takes me to a coffee black haired Gryffindor with egocentric stupid grin stamped on his face. His hero complex summarized in a lightning scar. Time and time again, our eyes locked together in a challenge of dominance. And every single time, a part of me can't help but noticing how they have every possible shade of green in them. I was even able to sort out the levels of his anger through them. If his eyes where bottle green, then he was merely annoyed by my presence. It was as if he wanted to bottle me up, secure the bottle, and throw me into a bottomless ocean. While if they were forest green it was irritation, usually I get him there by calling him a Scarhead, or any other insult that comes to mind at that particular moment. The most dangerous color of them all is emerald. It's when his eyes go hard and cold and I basically should get my wand ready.

It was as if Potter was put on this earth to contradict everything I stand for. It has always been a Gryffindor to a Slytherin, bravery against deviousness and a masked expression to an expressive face. Potter was unable to disguise his emotions, if he was infuriated, every line in his face prickles with it, and whenever I was able to itch such an expression on his features, the sight has never failed to charge me with pleasure. Through his green sea of emotions I uncovered layers of fear and pain. These raw feelings lay deeper, like the giant squid in that grey mossy lake. Almost unnoticed for those who don't look thoroughly, not an ounce would show as bloody perfect Potter carries himself heroically, refuses to show an instant of weakness, keeping that proud grin on his face through war wounds and bruises. I fold into myself as my involuntary admiration settles above him like an unseen halo.

I blow into my already cold coffee as if by that I can blow thoughts of Potter away, and as If my coffee cup turned into my own pensive, it chose a dangerous lurking memory, one that I usually refuse to recall. But here in this busy muggle coffee shop, I felt concealed, almost as if I'm wearing an invisibility clock. Amusingly enough, he was. It was on our last year cradled under Hogwarts protection. Before the ultimate rise and fall of the dark lord, I was by upbringing on one side of the war while he was by choice on the other. The school allowed us one of its merry trips to Hogsmeade and I was glad for a view change and the chance to get some butter beer. Little did I know that Potter had the same idea. I was easily able to deter Crabbe and Goyle as I walked into the three broomsticks; I scanned the available seats with my eyes and found a table at the corner with a deserted glass of butter bear. I got my order and as I was heading to the same table, the glass of butter bear was gone, it was in a blink of an eye and I knew no one came even close to the table, so it was really obvious, it left no room for assumptions.

I walked to the table trying to hide a small smile that threatens to break the left side of my mouth, I slid in and eerily drawled: "breaking the rules again, aren't we Potter?" at first there was not a sound, until I blindly kicked my legs under the table and a satisfactory "ouch" tickled my ears. A growl followed, as I elegantly drank my beer with not a hint of recognition on my perfect smooth face. "What do you want, you filthy prat?" Potter hissed from underneath his hiding. I put down my beer careful not to attract attention, wouldn't want idiots running around with rumors that Malfoy has gone mad talking to himself, do we. I dressed my face with a disapproving glare worthy of professor's Snape dark sarcastic facade. "Now, now, are you certain you are willing to address a prefect in such a manner? After all I have already got a wild card over you, you are not to leave the school premises I presume". It was difficult not being able to see his eyes nor calculating the amount of anger in them, but I was, as always, up for a challenge.

Potter said nothing but I was able to hear the bitter sound of him swallowing a mouthful of butter beer, then he sighed as he said in an indifferent tone; "so do I have to severe my own arm to shut you up?" "Tempting" I smirked, "that would defiantly be a competitive advantage at Quidditch, you wouldn't even be able to balance yourself on a broom, reminds me of the last time you got your arm deboned. That was a golden moment for the golden boy now, wasn't it?" Potter kicked my leg from underneath the table as a warning; I grilled the nothingness with my stare wishing that I could see him this moment. Potter let out a chuckle_, _"you're staring a tad too low if you were aiming for my eyes", I snapped back ignoring what God only knows he was hinting; "well if you weren't a coward, you'd take off that lame excuse of a clock of yours and face me like a wizard", "I'm not supposed to be seen you moron! That is what you've been holding against me, if I showed myself you have gotten no lead on me" he retorted. I raised my eyebrows at him for the lack of better words and said; "a word bet then, that should be sufficient". Before Potter had the chance to take the honorary crown of a buffoon by asking what in the snitch a word bet was, I started explaining. When I was done, he simply said; "so it's like truth and dare, but with no bottle or dares" obviously my dignity wouldn't have allowed me to ask what that was, or why a bottle was needed. "What are you planning to gain out of this?" the hidden boy snapped. I slipped my hand to my pocket, securing it around my wand, not sure if emerald was conjured in those dangerous eyes of his. "Nothing", I declared with an air of indifference, "an insight on the disgustingly famous boy who lives, if you granted Rita Skeeter an interview, this bet would be as effortless to you as breaking rules." He either didn't get my sarcasm or nobly ignored it, with no face to see emotions sketched on it, I feel unbalanced yet sure that his Gryffindor recklessness will kick in soon, beside it wasn't like I gave him any possible move, it was check mate for the great Potter.

"Do you think that I accidentally shrunk my brain? I don't have a scrap of trust in you. What would insure me that you would stick to your part of the bargain?" I smiled inwardly, no matter how tight a situation is Potter seems to always seek a gain out of it. The audacity of a Gryffindor, it seems like. Then again, this could be the only thing that kept him whole all these years dealing with the dark lord himself; it would be intriguing to have an insight of his mind, even through a lame word bet. "If I solemnly swear it to you, my word wouldn't satisfy? Have you such little faith in me? Well if it pleases you, I'm willing to bind myself to it". Another pause and I got the answer that made my eyes shine in a stormy -up to something- gray. "If you were bounded, there is nothing for me to lose". It was like catching the snitch with only ten points between you and your opponent. Purely accelerating…


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

I snickered at potter's surrender and braced myself for the disadvantage of my flawless plan. There was no way around it; I was actually going to bind myself. I breathed the spell and felt its invisible chain wrap around my wrest nuzzling its heavy weight with familiarity. It would stay there and tighten up as a warning if I was even close to expose the subject of what Potter trusted me with. I didn't even faze as I bonded myself, while I was able to hear Potter's shattered breath in disbelief. It wasn't a forbidden enchantment per say, but it wasn't one that should be taken lightly either. The only way to break the spell was if the secret owner allows it to unbind, which in Potter's case meant never. I braced myself to get used to this new addition to my body with a sigh and an afterthought smirk. For every spell can be manipulated. However this ability only comes through experience, and little did harry know, I had plenty experience with this one.

I was seven when I was bounded for the first time. My father exhaled the hex on my wrest the day the Ministry did one of their "routine" checks for the Malfoy Manner. One of the ministry's inspectors took a hold on me and kept asking me about trap doors, which we tended to have plenty of in the manor. The curse was twisting so fast, it was as if I tied up a dragon and forced it not to fly. I kept my hand in a fist and planted it firmly in my pocket feeling the blood run down my fingers, trying to solidify my face with coldness as I pledge ignorance. My father stared me down like one of those goblins at Gringotts as he sternly evaluated my performance.

From that day I learned that no one can ever be trusted with your secrets, you have to preserve anything that could be used against you in your own chamber of secrets guard it like a treacherous horcruxes, forever loathed but still a part of you. By using this familiar enchantment, I can twist the secret binding me, I learned how to trick the chain and manipulate its working. It's like a clock, it will still tick, but I simply changed the time. A secret must be kept, but I'm now able to pick which. Therefore I can get potter's trust binding myself to a pointless secret while giving myself the freedom to use the more guarded ones. It was dangerous, but by all means, it was also worth it.

I felt Potter's back slouch to the chair as he sighs; "shoot" he declared. "So what do I owe the pleasure of meeting you here to? Why are you breaking the rules in the first place?"I said, "I don't have a guardian, no one to sign my papers to allow me to go to Hogsmeade, so I had to think of extravagant measures". It came out of him in a bit higher pitch than a whisper, as if it caused him pain to say it out loud, "what happened to the muggles they raised you? Finally decided they got fed up of the famous Potter?" I said it sarcastically not expecting the bitterness that came with his statement "they were fed up with me the moment I was left at their front door like a wounded dog".

Years of practice were the only way I kept my composure un-stunned. Muggles detesting wizards? It was as if hearing that Honeydukes ran out of chocolate frogs. My father always boasted about respect and admiration that muggles showed to wizards, I always notice how pathetically in awe our care taker Argus Filch looks at the student's wands, and he's merely a squib. So I thought muggles specifically would bow in respect to wizards in general and specially to the boy who lived and saved them all.

Potter suddenly picked up where he lifted, as if there was no pause at all, "I was a liability to their perfect normal life, I kept doing things I couldn't explain or understand myself; things would move or explode when I was angry, things disappeared without warning in my presence and owls kept flocking around my head. They never told me anything about my parents, I went through eleven years of secrets and deception, I hate secrets, hidden truths only weight you down" I shifted my weight at how clashing our point of view about secrets was, he didn't notice though. "Hagrid literally had to find me out in the middle of nowhere and brought me to where I belong". I took another sip of beer as I tried to categorize this into my "Harry Potter's perfect life folder" but it refused to fit. I thought everyone around him were drunk on admiration. It hit me like a bludger how unreasonable my envy was of him; at times I even wanted to be him. So fragile he seemed that his once opaque walls were now sheer. Even though I couldn't see it in action, I was able to feel it in his breathing and his tone of voice. Hurt was seeping in; it was the same swirl of confusion and pain I always seem to notice buried deep in his emerald eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

"Your turn" his voice was strong again, it smacked me like the iciness that would punch you in the chest after a ghost passes through you.

I nodded at the air in front of me in a haze. He ignored my sharp intake of breath and pursued with a question of his own; "Usually you are a three headed creature, where is the rest of you?" I realized he meant Crab and Goyle, I felt that the extra crudity was there as a payback for my personal question earlier.

I expected worse questions from him, so I allowed my body to relax taking a relieved breath as my lips regained their sneer.

"It's easy to get rid of them, they aren't as bright as your Granger, you see". Did I just admit that the mudblood was brilliant? I think I wanted to be on his good side more than I thought possible.

"So you don't have any friends?" that was ruthless, like a shattering blow to my ego. I comprehended that this was the real question hidden under an air of simplicity, I stared at my drink, averting my eyes to him once or twice even though all I saw was an empty chair, yet his stare was intensely heavy on me.

"I have lots of friends" my voice couldn't even fool me, "followers" he said, "not friends". "Because I don't need friends" I snapped at him. "Everyone needs friends" and I could almost hear the smile in his voice.

He went on; "before Ron and Hermione I was completely lost, being in the wizarding world was new and terrifying and wonderful all at the same time.

They shared their experiences, their friendships and even their families with me. Without them, I could have easily ended becoming someone like you".

Because that would be your worst case scenario, I thought, with an unexplainable bang of emptiness.

I looked straight ahead with not a single crack in my porcelain face, "if they chose to follow me, it only proves that I am a leader, at least I'm not a piece of putty molded in whoever's hands were playing at the moment, if it wasn't your so called friends and their families, it's the old fool of a headmaster. And you dare to call Crabbe and Goyle followers?"

The venom in my words were sure to hit their target, I go for nothing less than the heart. And when I do, the victim better knows it's fatal.

The silence was too eerie; it was as if the three broomsticks scene suddenly was stunned by a silencing charm.

I waited in anguish for a word, a sound, a rabid breath even, but none came from the empty chair on my left. I must have done it this time; it must be emerald by now.

I felt a movement and a swooshing sound as potter deserted me. I found myself to be the one with the rabid breath as I panicked trying to keep up with his invisible angry steps. The snow outside was a blessing as I was able to trail him yet keep my distance.

Potter kept a steady pace and I understood that he wanted me to pursue. It was ironic how Potter can win an argument without a single syllable sometimes. As simple as that, he held me on a short leach of curiosity and degraded me with a rank of a mere follower.

Reaching the Shrinking Shank I was finally able to stare in –as I expected- emerald green eyes.

He discharged his clock to the ground and shoved his wand directly to the pulsing vain in my neck. I clutched my wand to a ready stance. Potter would never actually throw a hex at me when I wasn't fully prepared. That bloody honorable Gryffindor.

"Is that enough insight for you? Picked my brain enough Malfoy? You think its simple being the boy who lived when everyone wants you dead?

You are blind; all you see is luck. Fame and status, they are things that I was never responsible for, I can't stop people from talking, as they whisper my name in ridicules awe. They call me their savior. Have you heard? I'm supposed to save them!

All I wanted was a place to call home and friends to laugh with. I never wanted any of this!

Have you ever tasted loneliness or betrayal? Or even death? Because I have drank that bitter potion full to the rim.

Famous for my parent's death, lucky for escaping Voldemort by inches while others didn't, their blood is on my hands and his!

You say Dumbledore's molding me? Then I have been a really thoughtless creation of his, for the greater good he says, not my own, not Sirius's…"

His wand arm was shaking by then, sparks sizzled at the tip of his wand as his anger was getting the best of him, allowing almost uncontrolled magic to simmer up in him.

His voice was low now as he looked at me dangerously; "it has been a year since he descended through that bloody vial, and I lost him for good, I did everything right! Followed all of the instructions, yet he's still gone.

And Dumbledore exploited every portion of me. To him I'm nothing but a mean that is justified by the end".

And then the wand rose above his head and come down on me releasing his emerald anger in a blood red curse and I was stunned to obliviousness.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This chapter and what might come next are in Harry's POV.**

**I'm thankful for all the views and hopeful for more reviews.**

**Enjoy!**

|_A golden present|:_

It became a habit of mine, waking up before the sun.

I lazily grab my dented-round glasses from the bed counter; I stretched and tried to comb back my hair with my fingers, ignoring the fact that it have proven through the years to be a lost cause.

I did what I call my human routine of washing my face and brushing my teeth, and then moved to the kitchen.

Even though traces of magic can be felt throughout the cupboards, the stove, and the dishes that tend to wash themselves occasionally, the coffee machine was strictly enchantment-free.

It was set on time, and the smell was stretching through the entire flat.

I get my fresh cup of cappuccino to the balcony so I wouldn't miss the golden yellow the sun tend to throw my way before its fully awake.

It astonishes me every day how this splash of blond keeps reminding me of green and silver. A Slytherin in specific.

I sip my coffee going through the list of his insults with a grin.

He never failed in creating a new good ones every once in a while. He hated me with an amusing passion, and that was highly entertaining.

I recall the hat-sorting and how it declared us as rivals.

He looked like he knew his fate while I was uncertain about mine.

That day the sorting-hat taught me one of life's most important lessons; that I always have a choice. Something Malfoy never seemed to understand or even comprehend.

His mind was automatically programmed to the point that the hat didn't even have to touch him to know where he belonged.

I squint at the sun through my glasses as I remember how bloody perfect his hair was.

Must be charmed though, proper Malfoy.

Sometimes, I think that even the thoughts inside his head are as organized and proper, just like every single aspect of him.

Sadly, proper tends to come with a side of arrogance.

It was when I first saw him as a kid getting measured at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

His aristocratic features where itched in a proud expression and he was criticizing everything as if it was his job.

I wouldn't have minded his attitude if I wasn't already been fed up with Dudley's.

The sickening similarity between the two of them was the main reason I couldn't accept his offered hand.

I never stopped wondering if I could have saved him by getting closer to him from the start.

I let out a sarcastic laugh, a Gryffindor and a Slytherin?

This was doomed from the start.

I ruffle my hair and laugh at what Hermione would have called my "hero complex".

I imagined her listing all those Greek myths with complicated names.

My eyebrows pull themselves in a tight line as I think of what my friend's reaction would be about my appointment today with Malfoy.

I haven't seen the ferret boy -as Ron insists to call him to this very day- in a while. I swallowed the guilt as the thought of Ron too. I can almost see his face go as red as his hair!

He wouldn't like it one bit, I myself was not sure if I would survive.

I keep reminding myself that we are grownups now and this matter regards business.

Kingsley had a new lead on the case of the chain letters.

Those were sent randomly to muggles containing spells that get activated if the opener reads them.

The person might get lucky and the enchantment would be something as silly as dig your way to China or as dangerous and simple as hold your breath for one hour.

The victim is forced to pledge to the order and aren't free from its effect until they accomplish the task in question.

The worst part was, that the same person under the curse would mail the letter again.

Lately there have been quite few that were found shocked and confused, walking on their hands or stuck on a tree without remembering that they climbed it.

It took us many memory charms to make them forget and go back to their normality.

Because of the death spells, the Auroras department was trailing previous victims in order to lead to the next ones.

As the head of the Aurora's office, I had to carry the burden. And meeting Malfoy for evidence analysis would not be a piece of cake.

I get back to kitchen leaving my cup in the sink as the crispy magic started happily to dance-wash it.

I started to dress and as I pulled my green robes I sigh dramatically.

I have asked Kingsley multiple times to change the color code required for Auroras but he tends to wave it away, claiming that more urgent issues need to be addressed since he had became minister of magic.

I grimace as I imagined Malfoy's glued-on smirk when he sees me wearing his house color.

I put on the tie, the badge and took a final look in the mirror.

I pulled my hair roughly to cover my scar and was ready to go.


	5. Chapter 5

I apparated to my office and found myself plunged in the mid of reports and unique defense objects.

I half smiled. Leave it to me and Ron to spread chaos like a tornado.

A million file cases line the frame of the room, old cups of coffee and candy wraps litter the ground to no end.

The wall was a giant map marked with last seen notes on death eaters and their whereabouts.

I was welcomed with a muffled sound from Ron's almost invisible side of the room.

The offending obstacle that was in the way of his voice was a candy apple. I rolled my eyes as it was completely my fault that he got addicted to them, since I gave him one as a gift for his last birthday.

He freed himself from the apple and gave me a warm smile, which only made the guilt in my stomach topple over.

We discussed the case and the last lead that was supposed to be unraveled soon, and we run some errands.

I didn't mention my upcoming appointment and how I was "forced" to work side by side with a Malfoy, and I needed to remember that word because it might be the only reason I stay alive after Ron find's out about it.

My eyes rested on the window with a sigh before I started cursing under my breath.

He sent an owl? What the bloody hell was wrong with him!

There was no doubt in my mind that it was Malfoy's.

The arrogance left no room for suspension.

I opened the window and was baffled by the eagle owl huffing and stretching its leg impatiently with the note. I took it allowing the nauseating bird to leave my sight.

His handwriting was cursive and elegant. It was an address followed by one line "be in muggle clothes to avoid suspicion" and it was signed with his initials D.M.

I almost forgot that Ron was in the room until he almost chocked on that apple behind me.

I cringed as I waited for the red headed bomb to explode.

"WHY would Malfoy send you an owl? And WHY is he forcing a dress code on you? YOU aren't seeing him are you?"

I stammered apologetically "Relax Ron, I'm seeing him. But I'm not seeing HIM! It's regarding the case. Kingsley teamed us up".

Ron's face was comically exaggerated in a shocked why.

"He's the best collector, you know that Ron".

It was an odd shock when I heard the career path that Malfoy chose. I thought he would go with something fancier, knowing his history.

But then again, "his history" might have made him choose a more introverted profession.

A collector was almost a synonym to a forensic expert.

However, I wouldn't call Malfoy that to his face; anything muggle-related would probably disgrace him.

I had to work with Malfoy in the past, but never actually getting involved to the point of a meeting.

We send the occasional flying notes and share reports at the site. But nothing more than a crude nod of acknowledgment or an aloof conversation with word count of less than a hundred has ever been passed between us.

However, I couldn't help not noticing how very precise he was, seeing things that others might miss.

His slender arm would point the wand in a graceful captivating movement uttering complicated investigation charms in an admirable way.

I was blissfully distracted from such thoughts by Hermione's arrival, she let an annoyed grunt before she waved her wand at the mess getting papers in shape and reports in order.

"Honestly, you two, it's a simple charm, do I have to do this every single time?" Ron's frozen face must have distracted her because a cup of coffee was walking to the fireplace instead of the cupboard.

I handed the note to her in resignation, her eyebrows rose at me in question.

I answered by saying; "it's the chain letters case, it seems like he found something and Kingsley want us to address it immediately". She handed me the note wordlessly with a bored look directed at Ron.

"Ron, we aren't at Hogwarts anymore, he proved himself. So would you just grow up already?"

Hermione's statement combined with the look on Ron's disgraced face lightened up my mood tremendously.

I appirated to my flat leaving Ron's mouth half open and changed into jeans and a red shirt, just to prove an unspoken point , then apparated to the designated area…

It was a Starbucks.


	6. Chapter 6

I walked into Starbucks with confused steps. The sight of Malfoy in muggle clothes didn't help my situation at all.

He was wearing blue jeans with a worn out gray t-shirt and a black leather jacket.

His clothes clashed with his sharp patrician features and perfectly groomed hair. But all in all, it wasn't a bad look for him.

He acknowledged my existence with a simple nod; I did the same and head up to get my coffee.

I ended up getting myself black coffee in one hand and steamed milk in the other. Once I was back at his table I addressed him with a scoffed "Malfoy, trying a new look I see". He rolled his eyes and simply ordered; "have a seat Potter".

As I sat down, I mixed the content of my cups together and stirred fervently. He looked at my act as if it was a direct insult. I crinkled my nose in abhorrence at his large cup of plain -metallic taste- black coffee.

Another thing we don't agree on, what else is new?

After a couple of sips of silence, I kept shifting awkwardly trying to ignore the stupid part of my brain that kept noticing how his grey shirt matched his grey eyes.

His relaxed demeanor changed into a tense one as he said; "alright then, let's get down to business, shall we?"

He wiped his wand from underneath the table and performed some complex swishes and flicks in order to conceal our presence.

We were still seen by muggles, but we would become dull, as if we merged into the background.

Malfoy then discussed the new evidence they unraveled and explained the spell used to do so.

He had the authority of a professor as he listed all the facts in a trained manner. He paused in the right places, acknowledged my questions and provided detailed answers.

I could see that it was an effort for him to stay patient and civil. I guess old habits die hard for his sneer was permanent on his face.

"But what provided you with the theory that it was an inside job?" I interrupted in puzzlement.

He sighed heavily at my use of muggle terminology and went on with a malicious tone; "the spell pattern was manipulated Potter! It was performed in a strained manner. When an enchantment is forced, it loses the effortless feel of the wizard that casts it".

He then smirked and I felt my shoulders ride up to my ears in defense.

He regarded me with his iron stare that felt like prison bars then said with pretentious ease; "let me enlighten you Potter by taking you as an example.

You are impulsive beyond control, and tend to be quite stubborn. Your suicidal Gryffindor courage gets the best of you most of the time.

Analyzing that I can collect that you don't think when you cast a spell, therefore the spell pattern left by you would be distorted at the beginning and deep in the middle while quite fractured at the end, because you would end with hesitation and self-doubt on how well you preformed the spell, so you twist your wrist downward when you finish casting".

I felt exposed as my face drank the color of my shirt.

Understanding dwelled on me. Magic was a very complex substance to begin with. Every day something new would be acknowledged about it.

It depended on so many variables that it was impossible to be fully controlled.

A spell casted by someone had traits of that person's personality within. Every wizard leaves an unconscious mark in his spells, little characteristics that could differentiate between the magic of one person and the other, almost like a magical fingerprint somehow.

Malfoy acted apathetic and kept going with his now ignored explanation; "the spell pattern found on the chained letters proved that the caster had years of magical experience and the elegance of a pure blood"

"The spell pattern was high and clear. It was proud and I was able to detect that he flicks his wand upwards and the end, which shows a soaring level of confidence".

I felt the anger boiling inside of me and it was hard not to punch him at the moment. His face was menace as if reading my thoughts openly.

He stood up with the air of a Slytherin, zipped his ink black jacket and said with a raised eyebrow; "I have delivered all the information that I have, so I would say that this meeting is concluded, wont you?"

He defused the concealing charm, and left me with two empty cups of drained coffee.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Here's a long one for you guys! I've been away so it was hard to update sooner. **

**I do try my best to keep it weekly. However, my exams are right around the corner -_-**

**So be kind! leave a review and a prayer XD **

It has always been a game I thought, and since every game had rules, ours were simple.

We fight with what we are given.

If it was words then we would be content with verbal lashing at each other, getting excited whenever one of us reached a higher level of insult and raised the bar.

Malfoy never disappointed. His words where full of venom that most of the time I couldn't surpass his snakelike tongue. So I out-shined him in Quidditch.

We would circle the field on our brooms like a bull and its rider. Our speed was our tool and the golden snatch was our ultimate goal.

If things got ugly and we had to fistfight, then by all means, we would do it. We would swipe punches and end up tackling each other to the ground, until separated by force or worse, Snape.

I cringed as I remember the amount of points that he would scrape out of Gryffindor, the endless detentions in the trophy room and those infinite glares from Hermione at my "carelessness", her idealizing of teachers who could do no wrong obviously blinded her from the fact that Snape would kill me with his own bare hands just for the satisfaction of it.

I sighed at the reflection of Snape; I took that thought and buried it deep in my already untidy trunk of emotions.

I left Starbucks and apparated into my office, and to an anxious Ron, which was -by default- an unpleasant sight.

I dropped my shoulders and sat down lifting my feet on my desk as I relived the event through telling him what took place.

"AND YOU DID NOTHING?!" Ron's yelling wasn't helping the red in my face to go away; it actually spread down my neck and up my ears.

"I told you the ferret would never change, the only thing that made him choose our side at the war was his self-preservation and the fact that he is a slimy coward! You should have hexed his bloody arrogant…. "

I flicked my wand trying not to think about Malfoy's analysis of my spell pattern, while sending a candy apple to successfully seal up Ron's disapproving mouth.

"Ron! Could you please focus on what's important? The person who's been sending all those tricky letters is someone in the ministry, that's huge. If the Daily Prophet gets wind of this, it will be a catastrophe!"

"What would be a catastrophe?" Mr. Weasley's voice interrupted our quarrel, the first thing we saw walking through the doors though, was a levitated box of unopened scarlet letters. They matched the profile of the letters that were sent to muggles.

"These were the ones we were able to apprehend before encounter" the authoritative voice of Jefferson Hope came in after Mr. Weasley's.

I sighed as I wished that I didn't have to retell the meeting with Malfoy again, I excluded the part where he "analyzed" or actually humiliated me for good measures. Ron didn't comment as the apple was still purposely clogging his mouth.

"But that is preposterous Harry!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed.

I knew it was hard potion to swallow, so I said with resolve; "this case has been boggling us for a month now, and if Malfoy, the best Collector said it was an inside job, then I believe it is".

Ron coughed at the voice of confidence that I was giving Malfoy, while Jefferson looked unconvinced.

He was new in the department, his first desired occupation was to join the Department of Mystery, but they said he wasn't qualified enough for the job.

They did have bizarre qualifications though, so nobody took it against him when he becomes Mr. Weasley's right arm in the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects.

"You realize we are talking about Draco Malfoy here, a previous Death Eater? And you are willing to put such trust in him? What if it was their latest shenanigan? Spreading such rumors to cause hatches"

I was already agitated from my appointment with the stupid git who I was –for some unknown reason - defending, retelling the tale twice didn't help, and Jefferson's pre-war attitude was maddening.

"Voldemort followed such system" I said after inhaling a deep shaking breath, I ignored their annoying flinches as I stood up then continued talking; "it was called generalization. He thought only pure bloods are worthy while muggle-born were mere filth.

Malfoy had deserted the dark side, and was awarded a clean slate; he proved a commendable effort in collecting Death Eater's trace and whereabouts.

Therefore Mr. Hope, he does have my full trust, and I would not allow such accusations in my presence".

Jefferson's face was shocked at first, and then he wiped it clean of emotion as he gave a crude nod and left the room.

I threw my weight on my chair again, allowing my feet to regain their position above my desk. Mr. Weasley gave me a small smile, and allowed his levitated box to touch the ground soundlessly, then left accordingly.

Ron released himself from the apple and regarded me with curiosity; "that was very Dumbledore of you Harry".

I rolled my eyes at him, opened the case file, and pretended to be busy.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: it took me a while to be able to have time for this chapter; I have been swamped with exams and projects.**

**So I stayed till 3:30 AM to finish this ;)**

**Enjoy, and review!**

**Make my sleep deprivation worth a while XD**

Draco took off his leather jacket with a sigh.

He has apparated to his apartment the moment he left the meeting with Harry. Which was very interesting to say the least, he smirked as he recalled a flushed confused Potter.

He realized that he couldn't help but falling to their old rhythm, as if time and aloofness failed to tame the dragon within him. It felt like the dragon stirred whenever Potter was in close distance.

Sure, they have been in "close" distance, but it was always among other people. He had to be professional in public and deny the childish rivalry that swelled in him.

This meeting has been the first time that Draco was able to have Harry alone since their sixth year, when Draco was deserted to follow the visible steps of Harry's invisible angry form.

It was then that Potter has broken the rules of their little game. They were verbally lashing at each other, crossing a line after line as usual.

Until Harry thought that Draco crossed a major one, and extracted his wand to stun him to unconsciousness.

They usually stayed at the same level, so Draco felt that since Harry broke the rules, he's allowed to strip Potter to the spine if he fancied.

That fight was never been resolved since Draco had other things to attend to.

He absentmindedly grabbed his forearm where the dark mark once laid. The pain of it evaporating after the death of the Dark Lord still brought him nightmares. It felt like a vicious snake bite, followed by the heat of a scorching sun burning his skin. He screamed and screamed until he couldn't feel his arm anymore.

Draco moved toward the balcony, to what deceivingly looked like a bird's basin, but was actually the Malfoy's manor pensive.

He removed couple of dark thoughts and added it to the bottomless container.

It was hard for Draco to save anything from the manor before the ministry got their hands on it to decipher its dark objects.

It was a difficult trip to ever get back there in the first place, yet he had to get some of his belongings and enough of money in order to start a somewhat new life.

The pensive was one of his most valued positions, and what he probably thought kept him sane through his last year of Hogwarts. It was still getting him through nightmares every now and then.

The scar of the exit wound of the dark mark was never quite healed, being the handy work of Voldemort himself. It was a permanent reminder of his grave error.

It was why Draco had to grab his leather jacket for the meeting, it wasn't even that cold outside, and usually the robes would do the trick.

Draco wouldn't be caught dead with a sleeveless shirt. Not that he needed to look at his disfigured arm to recall his position. The way other people looked at him was more than enough. He wouldn't even have scored a job in the ministry if not for all of his inside information.

It was the main reason why he chose his apartment in the muggle area of London. Granted it was small, not that he was now able to afford any different any way, and the neighbors where too friendly, especially the girl in apartment 23B.

He rolled his eyes as he remembered how Lucy forced small talk while he was moving in, even when he refused her help over and over again.

He walked to his small kitchenette on the side grabbing an apple from the counter.

It has been hard for him to get used to the limited space, after the vastness of the Malfoy manor. He missed the sunroom; he used to read there for hours.

It also took him a while to get used to not having things at his fingertips. He sighed; he defiantly missed the elves the most.

His thought was interrupted by fluttering of the wings of his eagle owl Athena.

She flew directly to him and landed comfortably at his shoulder. He greeted her with an ungraded smile and relieved her from her burden.

It was a letter from Potter.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: thanks goes to my lovely Beta, for her patient and support! **

**Love you Neen ;)**

When Draco opened Potter's letter, he found one line; "Meeting with Shacklebolt.11 AM".

Is he aware of it? Draco thought, that he's giving me clues into his soul... Those three words might look flat to anyone else, but not to the trained eyes of a collector.

Draco saw anger, Potter was pressing his quill a bit too hard, and the letters L and I were lower than the rest in their respective words, which shows stress and confusion.

Draco assumed that Harry didn't know either what the meeting was about. And figured that the anger was to be expected after the stunt he pulled today, so he left the letter on the counter and taking off his grey shirt, went for a shower.

Harry walked out of the shower after the long day he had with the Malfoy and Jefferson situation, he sighed as he dried his hair contently.

He felt as if the anger seeped out of him and he was more relaxed.

Kingsley refused to tell him anything about the meeting making the usual excuse of him being too busy, but he had that glint in his eyes. A careful look of anticipation for something that harry knew wouldn't like.

Hermione's head suddenly popped out in his fire place, he hurriedly put on his shirt while Hermione busied herself with marveling at the fire cracks.

"Sorry", she said, she looked very distressed; it was as if she was anxiously waiting for an exam result. A small smile tugged the corners of Harry's lips; he had the tendency of noticing the little changes in people around him, and they did change drastically after the war, so it was a relief to see that some things did survive.

"Elf troubles?" he said, Hermione looked apologetically then sighed as if one of her favorite classes got canceled, "they just need to get some sense knocked into them, they aren't following the rules, it was in the introduction of "Free Magical Beasts and Their Revelation" for God's sake!"

Harry couldn't help but laugh at this point, but when she looked at him with that stern look of professor McGonagall he explained himself by saying simply; "nobody reads the introduction Hermione, I guess even elves have the common sense for that".

Hermione muttered dangerously; "that's not common sense, that's indolence!" Harry rubbed his neck with his hands and waited for his friend to calm down. And then it looked like she finally remembered why she contacted him in the first place and looked back at him with un-Hermione smile on her face.

Harry felt that it would be safe to cut the connection short; "umm Hermione, I'm sorry but my dinner is in the oven, and I would really appreciate it unburned".

"Oh, I apologize, I know I didn't owl pre-floo, but i thought you'd be interested to know more about your meeting with Kingsley, but I guess not..", she turned her head as if leaving, but Harry was faster in almost screaming the words; "no, wait!".

Hermione gained back her polite smile with; "I thought so, well...he wants to pair you up". Harry was confused "pair me up with whom? Ron is my partner, he knows that already..." and then Harry saw it coming, and his heart sprinted a little bit faster.

"Oh he'll tell you all about it tomorrow, I just wanted to give you a slight heads up, got to go Harry, don't forget your dinner in the oven!" and she left.

It took Harry a minute to stop staring at the fire and get his dinner out, no longer hungry.

**A/N: you know, i can see you leaving without dropping a review, that's just not nice..**


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